she's a strange kind of horrible
by smorgasbord
Summary: Renesmee is not like the rest of her family. Kind-of-character study, psuedo-horror, slight imprint bashing.


There is a boy and a girl and there is a kiss. There is always a kiss. True love, except it isn't.

There is a boy and a girl and there is a kiss but the boy is also a wolf and the girl doesn't love him, not really.

(-)

Renesmee is sixteen (six? seven?) when she runs away from home. She spent weeks planning her escape, months fantasizing about freedom; she never hid it, not from her father, not from anyone. She had been so vocal about her decision, loud so they couldn't avoid it (her). She loves her family, really she does, but she hates them too; they have trapped her, a pretty bird in a gilded cage, a colourful creature yanked out of nature to be domesticated. She hates them for that (and so many things).

They don't understand her, and their attempts to try are half-hearted at best, she is patronized, her thoughts trivialized (dismissed).

_"When you're older…"_

They are confident that they will all reach an understanding when she is of age. For all their love and desire to care for a child none of them actually know how to conduct themselves around her. She is a doll (Alice), a pet (her parents), a soft thing to coo at and touch. She hates the touching, hates that she can tell them, show them her thoughts only for them to marvel at her ability rather than recognize her questions/answers/the innermost workings of her psyche, most of all, she hates Jacob's touches.

Jacob's touches are too hot, they reek of dirt and sweat and dog. She tells him this, tells him to stop touching her and they all laugh as though she cracked the world's funniest joke.

_"It's just a phase,"_ her mother says, and by god she hates her mother. She doesn't understand how someone could create a life and willingly serve it to her not-ex-boyfriend on a silver platter complete with a slice of wedding cake. Renesmee knows what is expected of her as an imprint, she has nightmares of herself barefoot and pregnant in a cramped dirty kitchen cooking for an unappreciative husband surrounded by other mindless imprints and their callow chatter. How can the same family that fought an almost-war for her condemn her to this strange, cruel hell?

She wants more than that can't they see? Perhaps not, after all her mother was content to throw away her life for a manic depressive man-boy with existential problems. But Renesmee has the rest of forever and she won't be content to spend it dog-sitting.

(-)

Her sixteenth birthday is a circus, complete with a clown in ill-fitting clothes (Jacob in an Armani suit, what were you thinking Alice?) and balloons. He kisses her in full view of the room, Emmett and the wolves cheer him on, her parents offer a secret smile, Rosalie grimaces vaguely disgusted. She flees the room, angry (at Jacob), disappointed (with her family), tendrils of Jasper's calmness follow her.

She leaves that night and changes her name to Lillian Whitlock.

(-)

Lillian is a self titled nomadic philosopher, if she's going to live forever then she might as well do something fulfilling. She's not her mother, with her classical literature and tragedies, no, Lillian doesn't dwell in romance and fiction she is an explorer with greater ambitions and heavier questions. Not the typical, _who am I? What is my purpose?_ She's knows who she is, who she strives to be, she wonders about other things though.

_Who are you?_

_What is your purpose? Is it greater than mine?_

_Why should I respect someone who doesn't respect themselves?_

And then she bites.

(-)

Blood is a precious thing, human blood doubly so, she hates to see it being wasted on the ignorant masses who maintain an existence according to YOLO.

(-)

She travels the world (avoids Italy like the plague though), and when she finally sees her family again it is forty two years later outside a small bed and breakfast in coastal Norway.

Jacob is with them.

They all speak at once, _"We are so disappointed in you Renesmee…", "Do you have any idea how worried we were…", "You better have a good explanation for this…"_

She waits for them to finish and then lifts the sunglasses off her face. She terrifying and silent, Lillian prefers to let her eyes explain, they never cared much for her thoughts anyways.

The moment stretches like a rope, too tense, too taut, it snaps at Bella's agonized wail and then there's movement. They surround her (not)-mother like her own personal guard protecting her from the vicious gospel.

(-)

Lillian is red.


End file.
